


Les Mains Des Guérisseurs (The Hands of Healers)

by emocezi



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-14
Updated: 2011-03-14
Packaged: 2017-10-17 00:01:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emocezi/pseuds/emocezi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Gene Roe thinks, his hands are only warm when they're covered in the blood of the men he's meant to keep alive.  He's not the only man in the woods of Bastogne without gloves.  And it would take more time then he has to pull off his gloves to administer a syrette of morphine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Les Mains Des Guérisseurs (The Hands of Healers)

Sometimes, Gene Roe thinks, his hands are only warm when they're covered in the blood of the men he's meant to keep alive. He's not the only man in the woods of Bastogne without gloves. And it would take more time then he has to pull off his gloves to administer a syrette of morphine.

He keeps his hands in his pockets when he can, moving silently from foxhole to foxhole in search of the medical supplies he always seems to be running out of. The men, his men, seem surprised when he asks them for extra's from their aid kits. Like he has a never ending supply of bandages and syrettes and plasma.

Even Dick Winters gives him a raised eyebrow even as he hands over what he can spare. The Captain has an almost parental look about him when he orders Gene into town to get a hot meal, and see what he can beg from the hospital they had set up.

It's there that he meets Renee. And every trip taken into town after that feels like a secret. She gives him chocolate, and that night, he dreams about her hands, and her smile. Of hair the colour of the wheat fields back home and children running around. French eyes and a Cajun smile.

He thinks about what she said. That the gift of comforting dying men is no gift at all. He thinks she might be true. One man dead for every three he can save, and the dead always weigh on his mind. He carries them around with him. The ghosts of the men who died with their blood under his nails.

He goes into town with Smokey. And for once he knows what Renee means. Smokey will never fight again. Hell, he'll never walk again. Paralyzed from the neck down. Somehow it's worse then if he'd died in Gene's arms.

He sits there, alone in the cold while General Sink gives them good tidings from General McCullough. Christmas wishes from someone who will never know what it's like out here. Sitting in his warm office, sipping his warm tea, sleeping in his warm bed.

Lipton brings him coffee, makes sure he takes it. Sometimes Gene wonders if Lipton is the only one who can see him when a medic isn't needed. Some of them make an effort. Heffron does. Even if it's just a smile here and a pat on the shoulder there. But he feels invisible half the time, watching the others in their groups, segregated from the officers.

Lieutenant Welsh gets hit in the thigh, and Gene feels guilty at the way his heart beats a little faster at the thought of seeing Renee again. Talking to her in a language that feels more intimate then English, he hasn't had a conversation in French since he joined the Army.

He knows there's something wrong as soon as they hit town. The fires burning aren't for warmth, they're the out of control flames that come from bombs and mortars. Anti air-craft guns are blasting at full capacity, and Gene can hear the screams and moans of the wounded that they managed to drag from the hospital in the church basement.

He doesn't think, just runs. There's a few men coming out of the church and something drops, something explodes. The heat of it hits him, the stench of burning flesh. He ignores the warnings, the shouts of _you can't go in there_ , because if there's a way to get to Renee, if there's a way to rescue her. He'll find it.

All he finds is her bandanna in the rubble. There's a hand sticking out, the arm buried in brick and smoldering wood. For a second he's afraid it's hers. But it's not. He'd recognize her hands anywhere. Gene swallows and picks up the rag, stuffing it in his pocket and leaving to follow the soldier who came up to holler _MEDIC_ right behind him. Like the blast left him deaf.

He helps out in town. Patching up whoever seems to need his help the most. And by dawn he's back on the line. Exhaustion and grief seeping into his bones, working with the cold to hollow him out. He looks at his hands, fingernails painted with the blood of strangers, the dead and the dying alike.

He glances over at the gash on Heffron's palm, listens to the other man gently tease him about using his nickname for the first time.

 _Babe_.

He says it again, testing it out and goes for a bandage to cover the wound. Even in the cold it could still go septic. He comes out with Renee's bandanna and for a moment he swears he can see her, throwing a chocolate bar at him and smiling that weary smile. Beautiful hands covered in dried blood, just like his.

It's almost too much to bear, and instead of putting it back in his pocket, he tears it in two and gently takes Babe's hand to wrap it. He knows he'll never forget Renee. Not ever. But this way it feels like her death wasn't in vain. Like she's still tending to the injured.

Gene lets go of Babe's hand and stares out into no man's land. His own fingers are already numb with cold and he almost doesn't feel Babe's hand until there are fingers interlaced with his own. Gene tightens his almost out of reflex, Babe doesn't say anything, doesn't even twitch. Just sits there, offering the only comfort he knows Doc Roe will accept.

Gene wants to push him away, go back to brooding by himself. But his fingers are warm, and for once they're not covered in blood. It's a small blessing tonight.


End file.
